


Two Little Bits - Booze

by jessebee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little random snippets involving alcohol</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Little Bits - Booze

 

(1)  COLD BEER, WARM HEART

 

Sam squinted at the sand and the water, brilliant under the blazing sun, half-blinding even through his sunglasses. It was hotter than Hades today, and he could say that with a straight face.

But the heat felt good, baking him here under the shade of the palms, seeping into muscles that were finally beginning to unknot. Sam sighed, shifted himself deeper into his chair. Another day or two of this and he might feel human again. Almost human, anyway.

The breeze drifted through, light over his skin, drying some of the sweat. Perfect. All he needed now was a cold beer or two and he'd be living that Corona commercial –

"Here."

Sam yelped as something icy hit his chest. His eyes popped open and he grabbed at the slick-cold bottle, yanking it to where it could drip on something other than his skin. "Gabriel, you bastard."

His growl slid completely off of the archangel in question. "Such gratitude, Sam. I'm positively touched." Gabriel smirked at him across the little distance between their chairs. "And after I came all this way to bring you drink."

"All the way from the bar, you mean."

"Sure, but which bar?"

Sam blinked. He pushed his glasses up to get a better look at the label. "Oh," he said happily, because it was a microbrew that he loved and that he knew for a fact that the beach bar didn't have. The cap was already gone, so the only thing to do was take that first long, wet swallow. And the second, and the third. "Thanks," he sighed, and rolled his head to look at Gabriel.

Who was watching Sam with a leer that did nothing to hide the light in his hazel eyes. A light that Sam had come to know well, even if there were times when he still didn't quite believe that he was really the cause of it. "You're still a bastard, though," he murmured.

"Technically, possibly," Gabriel said, with studied carelessness, reaching over and tangling their fingers together. "But I'm a bastard who brings you really good beer. And orgasms."

"Can't forget those," Sam said, and took another drink.

 

 

 

(2)  TACTILE

 

Sam, Gabriel has noticed, is a tactile sort of human. Okay, all humans are tactile, really, they get a lot of their information by touching things because they don't (mostly) have the superior angelic senses of oh, say, angels. Like Gabriel. But Sam, now…Sam touches things quite a bit, curious mind at work.

Touching people, though? Not so much.

Unless he's drunk.

Alcohol evidently lowers some of the walls Sam has built (not that Gabriel will ever admit to being responsible for some of the bricks, nosireebob) between himself and the world. Being drunk seems to make Sam a bit, well – handsy.

And Sam, Gabriel has most _definitely_ noticed, has very nice hands. Not pretty, not at all – the life of a Winchester doesn't make for delicacy. But they're beautiful in their strength – even rough and bruised – and they are very strong for a human, and clever and capable. Big hands, fitting a big man.

Gabriel rather likes the big ones.

Okay, that's a lie. Gabriel _really_ likes the big ones.

 

#

 

"Y're tryin' to get me drunk."

"Trying?" Gabriel tilts his head, watching Sam hold onto the edge of the bar.

"Think I don' see the glass keep fillin' up? S' you doing it."

Gabriel's eyes open wide in exaggerated hurt. "Would I do that?"

Sam looks like he thinking about this as best he can. "Yeah," he says, nodding, and then stops because that nodding thing, that's apparently not a good idea. "Yeah, you totally would. What I don' get is why," he finishes, drunkenly earnest, and puts his big hand on Gabriel's arm.

The touch is heavy and warm even through the fabric of Gabriel's shirt. His breath absolutely does not catch (much), and he looks down at the long, tanned fingers wrapped around his forearm. Just for a moment.

A moment too long.

Now it's Sam's breath that catches, and Gabriel jerks his gaze back up only to have it trapped by Sam's wide, drunk-bright hazel one. "This," Sam says, and his face is lighting with slow discovery, brain working even through the booze. His fingers tighten. "'Cause I do _this_. And you _like_ it."

Caught. "I like winding you up because you're funny when you fall over, sure."

Sam shakes his head, slow and broad, his eyes never leaving Gabriel's. "Get touchy when 'm drunk, and y' know it, and y' _like_ it. M' hands. On you," he slurs, low and intense.

Oh, caught. Fucking Winchesters, how do they _do_ that?

"I like it too," Sam whispers, leaning in too close, and Gabriel closes his eyes because he – can't. He can't, not like this, not with Sam not himself, he just – can't. He won't. It's not _right_.

"Box up that thought and pull it out again when you're sober, Sam," he sighs. "I think you'll see it differently."

"I think I won't."

And Gabriel's eyes snap open because that? Was _not_ the diction of a guy three sheets to the wind.

Sam's still too close and Gabriel smells whiskey and _him_ : Sam, warm human, beneath. Warm. And – aroused? "Sam?"

"Did I ever mention that I can drink Dean under the table?"

Gabriel's lips part and his eyes narrow. Fucking Winchesters. "You played me," he accuses, stomach twisting, equal parts annoyed and amused.

Sam's eyes sparkle with at least as much mirth as alcohol, and his smile is a small thing. Nervous. Determined. His fingers flex against Gabriel's arm. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

Gabriel stares. His heart, unnecessary thing that it is, is beating faster. "Oh, I don't know. Tuesday? Wednesday? Dead Dean, maybe?"

Sam shakes his head. "Forgave you that when I realized why, after Wellington."

Gabriel's heart bumps up from his chest and into his throat, and he has to swallow to get it back down. "You're still plastered," he says, because the reasons for what he'd done are reasons he's going to discuss with Sam _never_ and sweet Almighty, it aches. He hadn't figured on that. To be this close and not –

Sam's eyes narrow, and his smile grows an edge. "Then sober me up and let's try this again."

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Prompt: Cold beer, blazingly hot sun  
> from cageyklio
> 
> (2) Prompt: "Sam's a handsy drunk, and once Gabe notices, it's not like he starts liquoring him up, or anything."  
> For pick-a-prompt 001, on spn_gabriel_sam


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